Epilogophilia: Something's Going on on This Train
by owlcroft
Summary: Hardcastle's home from the train trip; where's McCormick?


**Epilogophilia – Something's Going on on This Train**

_Hardcastle is invited to a get-together on a private train, but he discovers that he has been invited only to be a victim of a murderer with a grudge against all the passengers. McCormick is accidentally trapped on board, although not for long. He undergoes various adventures after being tossed off, but manages to rejoin the train in time to help Hardcastle set a trap for the murderer. All ends well at the station, except for the enemies Mark made while chasing the train._

**Epilogue –** by Owlcroft

Judge Hardcastle paced for a while, checked his watch and paced some more. It had been three days since he'd seen McCormick outrun a pack of Hell's Angels and a herd of state troopers. Three days in which he expected Mark to show up at any time. He hadn't.

_Where the hell . . . I shoulda gone after him. He probably didn't have a lot of cash on him. Dammit._

He paced for another six minutes, then sat decisively at his desk and pulled the phone forward. Just as he lifted the receiver, he heard a car door slam in the driveway out front. _Hah! Took him long enough. I'll give him an earful for this . . . _The judge looked out the window as a distinctly seedy-looking McCormick waved goodbye to a battered blue Chevy.

Mark looked at the main house, then at the gatehouse.

_Don't you even __think__about it, sport. Get in here before I have to drag you in._

McCormick grimaced, then shook his head ruefully before trudging slowly up the steps to the front door.

The door slammed, as usual, and McCormick called brightly, "Hey, Judge! I'm ho-ome!"

"Yeah, so I noticed." Hardcastle walked to the foot of the den steps and looked fiercely at the unshaven, untidy man in front of him.

A dense silence fell, broken finally when Mark shrugged and said, "Okay, so I'm a little late."

"Oh, 'a little late'. Is that what you call it?" Hardcastle said in an calm, even tone of voice. Then he shouted, "_What the hell ya took three days_?"

"Ah, the bus," McCormick answered quietly. "There were some really long layovers."

"The _bus_? You took the bus home?" The judge was incredulous.

"Well, what'd you expect me to do?" asked Mark tiredly. "Hitch? That would've taken even longer. People tend not to pick up guys who look like this." He waved an arm down his front. "Come on, Judge. Yell at me later, okay? Maybe while I'm catching up on the hedges or something." He closed his eyes briefly, then added, "Right now, could I just get something to eat and grab a nap?"

Hardcastle suddenly realized what had been subconsciously bothering him. "Where's your jacket?"

McCormick looked down at his shirt front and said, "Gone."

"Whaddaya mean, gone? Gone where? That was a present from the Aunts."

"I know." If possible, Mark's voice had gotten even quieter and tireder. "I hocked it in Boulder to get the rest of the way home."

"Oh, for the love of . . . C'mere." Hardcastle stomped up the steps to the hallway and took McCormick's arm. "Food, first." He tugged gently and McCormick followed him, unresisting.

"Here." The judge pushed him into a chair at the small kitchen table. "Ham sandwiches in just a coupla minutes, but start working on this first." He set down a glass of milk and a banana. "When's the last meal you had?" he asked, taking bread from the breadbox and a plate from the cabinet.

"Found a bar with pickles and hard-boiled eggs when you bought a beer," Mark answered thickly through a mouthful of banana.

"Good grief," Hardcastle muttered. He got busy with mustard and mayo, even added a leaf of lettuce. As he put the plate on the table in front of McCormick, he asked reluctantly, "Why didn't you call? I been back almost three days now. I coulda wired you some money for a plane ticket or something, ya know."

Mark swallowed, then took a swig of milk. "I figured I got myself into it, I should get myself out. Isn't that what you're always preaching to me? Personal responsibility?"

"Yeah, but," the judge shrugged, "I never said anything about not asking for help when ya need it."

"Maybe." McCormick took an enormous bite of sandwich. After chewing and swallowing again, he said, "Maybe I just felt embarrassed. You know, that I got locked in the bathroom, then tossed off the train, then chased by not one, but _two _sets of people. Not the sort of weekend I had planned, believe me."

"Well, that better not be the reason." Hardcastle helped himself to an orange from the bowl on the table and began to peel it. "None of that was exactly your fault. Except for stealing the car and the bike. You probably never heard of diplomacy, huh? You know, where you use words instead of actions to get your point across?"

"Judge, if you had been there, _you_ might've been able to convince those people that you weren't a raving lunatic and that the guys in white hats were in trouble on a train, but I'm telling you right now, they were_ not _buying it from me." McCormick finished his milk and got up to get more.

The judge began separating the segments of his orange. "Yeah, well . . . I guess it all worked out about as well as we could expect." He looked across the table to Mark. "But you shoulda called. Next time, just pick up the phone and let me know what ya need, okay?"

"_Next _time?" McCormick reached for the cookie jar. "Judge, the next time we take a train, we're going by _boat_."

_finis_


End file.
